Rilke says sadness is the moment the future enters usBy surprise and pushes us into the unknownThe handsome bartender says,”Your drinks are on me”—And leans across the counter—”What’ll it be?”Alcohol is heat in my ears as I catch my reflectionIn the mirror, happy flirting without forethought.But days later alone the question comes back:What will it be? and I remember moments with youWhen time raced quickly around us like a romping young dogAnd we were amused. Today time reminds me of the houndKnowingly guarding the underworld. Sadness slips in,Doesn’t it? even in the gentle pleasures of the bodyWhich pass too and remind us of loss.